When I Look at You
by the.terrorist
Summary: AU. Sasu/Saku. She was so afraid of hurting and losing him, that she failed to realise that, in her quest to avoid either outcome, she was pushing him away and unknowingly heading straight for both.


It was a successful night, Sakura concluded as she slipped her high-heeled shoe off, sighing in relief once she was able to stretch her toes and twist her ankle from side to side, working out the kinks that had formed with every minute that she had spent on her feet that evening.

Every time, the show was more spectacular. Every time, the turnout was more impressive. The number of photographers doubled, and the calls from magazines interested in a feature tripled. It was needless to say that the profits skyrocketed.

As someone who was directly involved, there was nothing she could possibly complain about; better was better, regardless of other external factors, for everybody.

There was something about that night, though, something about that atmosphere, about the spirit of celebration floating in the air, about the pure happiness and satisfaction that could be sensed all around her, but not _inside_ her, that made her slightly cynical and not at all a good company to be around.

And she felt _horrible_, absolutely horrible because of that.

Ino had been her best friend ever since they met at seven years old. They'd survived high-school together, gone to college together, cooked their first Thanksgiving dinner together, bought their first apartment together… every single milestone that she could remember had been shared with the blonde-haired woman. She'd helped her with everything, stood by her side in everything, and even now, as they'd gone their separate ways, was still the person she called whenever she had a question or a problem—was still the person that, Sakura knew, would drop everything and come to her aid, no matter what time it was, where she was or who she was with.

The fact that she wasn't able to accompany her, body and soul, in what had to be the happiest time of her life so far, that she wasn't able to celebrate with her, feel her satisfaction and her success even when she was a direct part of it, practically killed her on the inside.

And the worst part of it all was that, even then, her mind was filled to the brim with other, more painful thoughts.

Heaving a loud sigh, she straightened and then stood from her seat, wincing as her feet stepped evenly on the ground for the first time in hours.

Ambling her tired body towards the large mirror taking up almost an entire wall of the private changing room, she reached up to start removing the many bobby pins that held her hairstyle together, resolving that, exhausted as she was, it would save her the trouble of doing it later. She was well aware of the fact that, once she arrived home, all she would want to do was slip under the warm covers of her bed, place her head on the pillow, fall unconscious and forget all there was to forget about the world around her.

She had barely managed to find and grab onto the first one, when the cabin door burst open to reveal no one other than Yamanaka Ino herself—the current sensation of the fashion world and, according to Vogue, the most promising up-and-coming designer—with a large grin on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes that would have completely given away her happiness, had the cool bottle of champagne in her hand not done it beforehand.

"Hey, Forehead!" she greeted, using the loving nickname she'd been given in middle school.

Granted, it hadn't been as loving back then, having been used by children as a bullying instrument for her, admittedly, quite large forehead. But Ino had been the one to send them all away every single time that happened; she'd been the one to protect her and she'd been the one to comfort her, to stroke her back and wipe the tears from her face. Now, every time _she_ said it, it stood as a clear symbol of her understanding that the people who truly mattered would love her for all of her faults before they loved her for her assets, triggering more happy than sad memories—except on the days when Sakura was feeling particularly down, angry, or upset.

Unfortunately, today was one of them.

But because it was her evening, because it was her right, because she had earned it through hard work and dedication, the pink-haired woman didn't comment. She let her be. She refused to have her negative feelings taint her best friend's happiness. After all, what type of person would she be if she allowed her selfishness to dictate her every action? What type of friend would she be if she prevented Ino from enjoying her night simply because _she_ had issues she couldn't solve? Sakura's life was filled with constant drama. If she gave it free reign over not only herself, but the people around her, as well, then what would be left of their friendship? As much as Ino had proved her love and loyalty, how much would she have been able to take, had Sakura run to her with every single problem she'd had and every single situation that had affected her? Not as much, that was for sure.

"How does the sensation of the night feel?" the blonde asked as she came to stand beside her, slamming the champagne bottle down on the make-up table. Sakura caught the label from the corner of her eye, not failing to notice it was one of the most expensive of the lot.

"I'm hardly the sensation of the night," she told her, a smile involuntarily quirking the corners of her lips upwards.

She may not share her state of happiness, but she decided she could be happy _for_ her.

Ino's career in fashion had started exactly two years before, when she graduated from university with a degree in Arts and Design. While Sakura went on to medical school, her dream of becoming a surgeon still long in the making, Ino went straight for hers, diving headfirst and without a single care in the rough world of the fashion industry. She gathered the many sketches that filled her notebooks, obtained the financial support she needed by showing them exactly to the right persons, and set down to work. Her first collection came out in the autumn, barely three months after their graduation.

It had been a complete success, giving her the capital required to start a small business. Two years later, and she was the sensation of the moment, with a bright future as a highly established name in fashion—exactly as she had dreamed since they were children.

Sakura had been her number one model from the very start.

Ino had known she was struggling with money, and would struggle even more once her residency started and she would no longer have scholarships to rely on, so she had offered her a job that was more than convenient.

Sakura had refused once, twice, and then nearly altogether. First of all, Ino was her best friend, and it seemed unconceivable to the pinkette that she would have to pay her for something she would have helped her with, regardless. And, furthermore, the last bullet point on her agenda was to sabotage her business. After all, it wasn't a secret that she wasn't quite model material. She wasn't tall enough, and she had on a bit more weight than seemed to be the current standard. Ino had managed to convince her by insisting that the exotic combination of pink hair and green eyes would capture the attention of every onlooker, cover all of her imperfections, and give newspapers and fashion magazines something to rave about even if the focus wouldn't be on her collection.

She'd been wrong. Her designs had been the centre of attention from the very start. But she'd been right about the fact that Sakura would find the money useful—necessary, even. There were days when she counted them and found herself wondering how she would have managed to scrape by without them.

Still, though—this was _Ino's_ dream, not hers. And the simple notion of how long it would be until hers finally came true, combined with the mess in her personal life, her thoughts and her feelings, made her heave yet another weary sigh.

"I was talking to my dress," the blonde quipped, fingering the soft material that still covered her body, and Sakura rolled her eyes. "But since it's on you and you answered, care to tell me what happened that's gotten your mood so flat?"

Surprise flashed briefly across Sakura's green eyes, before she shook her head with a small hint of a smile. Of course she hadn't been able to fool Ino, regardless of how much or how hard she'd tried.

"Nothing," she answered, finally pulling the respective pin out of her hair and setting it down on the table; her gaze followed its journey. "I'm just tired."

"Oh, such bullshit," she immediately retaliated, retiring for a moment at the back of the room, before returning with two tall glasses. "But, don't you worry." Setting them down, she grabbed the bottle and opened it expertly in a matter of seconds. "We have exactly forty-five minutes before heading to a club to celebrate—forty-five minutes in which you can tell me all about what's been happening in your life that I haven't been a part of in the past month."

"It's nothing," Sakura insisted, snatching one of the flutes and bringing it to her lips. The bubbly drink sizzled on her tongue and burned down her throat, settling in her stomach warmly. Was this what she needed? she wondered. Was alcohol, for the first time in her life, the solution?

Turning her back on her friend, partly so that she wouldn't need to maintain eye-contact while she spoke, she made her way to the small couch she had abandoned earlier, careful not to step on the hem of her dress or on the shoes she had left carelessly on the floor.

"The usual. I'm tired. Stressed." She shrugged, sat down, and forced a small smile to her face. "Med school."

"Shush, Forehead," Ino chided, moving to sit next to her, bringing along not only her own flute, but the entire bottle. "We all know you're not the typical med student. You _live_ for those double shifts. Now, come on, out with the truth."

Sakura sighed. Setting her glass on the floor, she leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and her gaze tilted down.

"It's Sasuke," she finally confessed, after a couple of moments of much needed silence.

Ino gave a shocked gasp. "What did that bastard do?"

Sakura's response came in the shape of a small laugh.

Her boyfriend had been nothing but perfect to her from the moment they started dating, but because he wasn't the flashy, romantic type that the blonde preferred, she had been eyeing him with suspicion all along. Of course, Sakura knew that was largely because of the ridiculous ideals they'd shared with each other as teenagers, so she admitted to having part of the blame.

She had wanted a man that was funny, open, great friends with her friends, a man that was constantly smiling—because God knew _she_ had enough reasons to cry—a man that loved her so much he wanted to shout it to the world—because, in the end, she deserved all of that and more. She deserved to be appreciated and loved and she deserved to have everybody see it and label her as a lucky, _lucky_ girl.

Who would have thought that, years later, she would stand in the way of her own happiness?

Furthermore, the perfect man would have blue eyes and dirty blond hair, a great physique, and, of course, an even prettier face.

Sasuke was almost the complete opposite.

He was incredibly handsome, without a doubt, perhaps more handsome than the pinkette had ever even dared to hope. With his jet-black hair, onyx eyes, and what could only be described as aristocratic features, he could be a model far more successful than Sakura herself.

But he wasn't open. In fact, it had taken her quite a bit of time to break past his façade and tall, protective walls—quite a bit of time even after they had started dating. Yet, it had been worth it. He was _beautiful_ on the inside—a beauty that rivalled even his outside handsomeness.

He was only funny in his sarcastic, sardonic way—but he never failed to bring a smile to her lips.

He didn't buy her flowers and didn't plan many romantic dates. But he always held her hand possessively when they were in public. He introduced her to everybody, pridefully, as his. He cuddled with her on the couch when they were watching movies. He picked her up from the hospital when she had a shift that ended too late. He ran his hands through her hair when she had a headache. He ordered her home when she hadn't been there in days. He stocked her fridge and cooked her meals because he knew she was too busy to do it herself. He tucked her in with extra blankets when he left her bed early on winter mornings. He insisted on buying her expensive clothes and pieces of jewelry that she didn't need, didn't have reasons or occasions to wear, but that he thought she deserved. And, on the rare times that he did take her out, he made them special—with the location, with the idea, with his _presence_. Because, as long as he was there, beside her, then her life was perfect—and, somehow, somewhere along the way, he must have realized that.

He was her own personal God sent to Earth to love her, protect her, and fill the void in her heart.

He was _everything_.

And Sakura honestly couldn't wait until someone special appeared in Ino's path to rattle the foundations of _her_ prince charming.

"He didn't do anything," she said with a wistful smile, as it usually was the case when Sasuke was on her mind. "It's just…" She shook her head. "The old problem."

While Sasuke was perfect, their relationship had one small flaw: his heritage. Because being gorgeous didn't come without attachments; it came with an entire family of gorgeous, perfect people—and money; ties; obligations; a world that Sakura was not a part of.

She had met Sasuke in college, where he had finished his Computer Science degree at the same time as Ino, before immediately heading in to work for his father's company, Uchiha Enterprises Corp. They were so successful and so powerful that even Sakura, who knew nothing about computers other than how to turn them on and off, as well as how to occasionally check her e-mails, had heard of them long before she met their heir.

That was not to say her boyfriend had received everything on a silver platter, though; he had worked hard for everything and he was constantly so excited about his job that it sometimes seemed to rival even her own passion for medicine.

And perhaps his family was not their real problem, but that.

Sakura had known, almost from the moment that she saw Sasuke holding the door open to his Maserati to drive her to their first date, that his family would never approve of her. She'd never even met them, that was true, and perhaps it was wrong of her to judge, but Sasuke's reluctance to correct her when she mentioned her fears to him and instead his insistence that he was more than willing and ready to face that for her had unfortunately confirmed them.

Sakura used to have an amazing family—a small family, but a great one, regardless. She had a mother and a father that worked hard so support her, to provide her with everything she needed, to give her all the opportunities that other children had. She had loved them to death—but all the money they had earned, together, up until the moment in which they died in a car accident right before Sakura started high school, didn't come close to reaching even half of what Sasuke made in a month. She hadn't grown up with precious jewelry or expensive dresses, and she remembered she'd worn plenty of trusty pairs of shoes until they broke, but there hadn't been a single second when she considered herself to be different because of that… until she met Sasuke.

Because he was amazing. Because he'd had the world at his feet from the moment that he was born, and yet he was still incredible. Because he could clearly discern that what truly mattered was not wealth, but love. Because he continued to bail his idiotic best friend out of jail every single time he landed himself in trouble. Because, even after a day from hell of his own, he still swung by her place to ensure that she'd had dinner and rub her back soothingly until she fell asleep.

Because he looked after the stray kitten she'd found mewling its soul out in an alley on a rainy evening; she'd claimed she wanted to keep it, but after many nights spent in the hospital, it had become clear that would be impossible, so he'd brought it to his apartment and then passed it on to his mother, who had gladly welcomed it into her home. To this day, she still received pictures of it whenever Sasuke visited his parents.

There was no denying the fact that the incident had reflected well on his family. They were good people. They had to be, because they'd raised _him_. Because they'd accepted that creature. But that was hardly the solution to their predicament. It didn't mean Sakura would belong with them.

They were good people in their world. Sakura was a good person in hers.

Sasuke deserved to bring home a woman that was knowledgeable, that had seen the world, that knew her way around life. Sakura only knew the way to the hospital and the closest supermarket.

Sasuke deserved someone who was used to sampling wine and drinking champagne, who could tell the difference between two appetizers that looked the same, who could name fashion designers off the top of her head. Sakura only knew Ino and the only reason why she had two of her dresses in her closet was because they had been presents.

It was not as if she was putting herself down, as she had been told before, because Sakura was well aware of how much she was worth; she was brilliant in so many other aspects, in all the ways that truly mattered to her. But the truth was that circumstances usually meant everything in life—and it was a harsh truth that had been slowly cutting into her air supply since the glow of dating him started to disappear, and she started to see reality for what it was, as well as acknowledge the fact that, while they may be wonderful, gorgeous, _perfect_ together, just the two of them, the rest of the world may not see them as good of a fit as they, themselves, did.

"His family?" Ino asked in a soft voice, perfectly aware of how sensitive the subject was to the pink-haired woman.

She nodded sadly, and kept her head down. "They're throwing a party for him," she said, playing with the soft, cool material that was draped over her knees. "He signed a big contract at work the other week, but it's more than that… I know his father wants him to settle down." Pausing, she tried to swallow the lump that had formed in the throat and prevent her tears from forming. "I've heard… conversations I shouldn't have. Sasuke himself told me once, when he was upset." She shook her head, and a sob clawed its way out of her throat without her permission. "And it _sucks_, Ino. It hurts so bad, because I _wish_ I could be that person for him. I _wish_ I could be the woman his family would approve of—not just for me, but for him, too. He _loves_ me, Ino, but he deserves to have it all, and I… I feel as if I've taken everything away from him the second I walked into his life and agreed to go on a date with him."

"Sakura," Ino admonished, the exact way she had known she would. It wasn't the first time they discussed the issue, after all, and Sakura had learned to anticipate her reactions. "You can't say such things! Sasuke loves you for who you are—you've said it a million times. You've been in a relationship for _years_. There's a reason why he's chosen you and not some random Barbie, and it's time he defended that against his family! Stop stalling and just agree to meet them already!"

"And break them apart?" she retaliated, standing up, looking down at her friend with an expression halfway between a glare and a pledge for understanding. "You have no idea how much he loves them!"

"No, I don't," Ino replied firmly, standing up herself and stomping her way to where Sakura had stopped in front of the mirror. Small hands reached up to continue their mission of pulling bobby pins out of the intricate up-do of pink hair, but another set quickly slapped them away.

Green eyes met blue in the mirror, a set annoyed, another determined.

"I don't know how much he loves his family, and to be perfectly honest, I don't care. But I do know how much he loves _you_. _Yes!_" she stressed, meeting her skeptical expression. "Don't give me that look! I _do_ know how much this man loves you—that I think he doesn't show it enough is another story. But he _adores_ you, Sakura, he has from the moment he laid his eyes on you and you opened your mouth, I am sure of it, and you need to prove him that you love him back."

"I do!" she almost shrieked in response, scandalized. "I tell him every day, I show it every time! I—"

"Then why won't you take a chance for him?" Ino interrupted firmly, stunning her into silence.

"I—"

"Did he invite you to this party, yes or no?"

Sakura swallowed, turning back around to face the mirror, but averting her eyes from hers. "Yes," she answered quietly. "He did."

The blonde's voice was tenderer when she continued. "Do you see my point? Sasuke _wants_ you to meet his family. He _wants_ them to see the woman he's in love with. And if he does, because I'm sure he's well aware of their pretentions and expectations, then it's because he's proud of you and because he knows you can win them over and make them love you—just like you did with him. And, let's be honest, why _wouldn't_ he? _Look_ at yourself, Sakura." Soft hands grasped her shoulders and her chin automatically lifted. "Look at yourself and tell me why any man wouldn't be happy and proud to have you by his side."

Sakura did—and, for a split second, she thought that perhaps Ino was right.

She wasn't a vain person—far from it, actually; she was the type of girl that was more insecure than self-assured, but she wasn't exactly unattractive. With her exotic colouring, her high cheekbones, and her full lips, she was almost beautiful, by her standards. Especially then, dressed up in one of Ino's creations, a white dress with millions of precious stones set in intricate patterns, with her hair caught up in a messy style, with curly strands falling gently around her face; with her glossy lips and the professional make-up that seemed to bring out every last shade of green in her eyes. She was short, but she had an otherwise nice body. She exercised regularly, went for a run in all the mornings that she could, and her legs were long for her stature. She had curves in all the right places.

She could definitely turn a lot of heads when she made the effort to let her hair down from her usual bun and change out of her scrubs.

"Look even deeper inside you and tell me how someone could possibly _not_ love you," Ino continued in an even softer voice, and Sakura's eyes filled with tears when she read the sincerity in her best friend's. "You're the most amazing person I know. You've worked so hard for everything you have, you've had a dream since we were children and nothing—absolutely _nothing_—has managed to derail you from your path in achieving it. You work a thirty-four hour shift and you still pick up your phone when I call you and slip out of bed to visit me if I need you. You have a conversation with a patient out of the hundreds you treat and you still remember, weeks later, to check in with them and see how they're doing. I can't even properly walk with you on the street—_that's_ how many people know you and love you enough to greet you and smile at you and want to know how you've been. Not everybody has that, Sakura. Sweetie, you're smart, you're funny, you're witty, you're compassionate—you have _everything_. You're about as perfect as a woman can possibly get. Why can't you see that?"

"Will that matter to them, Ino?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Is _that_ what they care about?"

"We don't know," the blonde answered honestly. "But how will we ever, if we don't try and see? They're people, Sakura. What's the worst that can happen? They don't accept you and Sasuke chooses them over you—but isn't that exactly what you're forcing him to do now? Take a chance for him, and maybe you won't regret it."

Sakura lowered her head in thought, Ino's words resounding through her mind, bouncing from wall to wall, over and over, like a broken record.

She was right, she realized, after no longer than two seconds.

Either way, there was a chance that she would lose the person she loved most in the world, and perhaps one would hurt more than the other, but the pain of not having him by her side would be the same—and it wouldn't be erased no matter how much or how hard she tried to escape or avoid it. Her life would be empty and hollow without him in it, no matter how he was to leave it. That was a fact—and facts couldn't be changed.

But as much as Sasuke deserved a woman that was worthy of him and his world perhaps more than she was, he also deserved a woman that would take a chance for him. He deserved a woman that would close her eyes and jump into the unknown, with him and for him. A woman capable of going to all extremes in order to save their relationship, until he put his foot down and said it no longer existed.

It was her choice whether she wanted to be that woman or not.

And she discovered very easily that she did.

"You're right," she whispered with a nod, reaching up to dab at her tears as she raised her head and met Ino's gaze in the mirror. "I'll talk to him."

The blonde's grin was brighter than the cameras flashing on the runway had been. "Yes, you will—_what_ are you doing?!" she demanded, her tone changing from elated to annoyed as she saw her reach for her bobby pins again.

Sakura blinked in surprise at the sudden shift in her mood. "I'm undoing my hair?"

Ino placed her hands on her hips. "You are doing no such thing! Why would you do that? You're perfect and ready to go!"

She sighed. "Ino, I know you want me to go to that club, but honestly, can't we have a more intimate celebration tomorrow? Because—"

The blonde gave a loud sigh, shaking her head. "Oh, Sakura, for such a promising young medic, you really _are_ stupid."

"…What?"

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her wrists to lower her arms for the second time that evening. "You're not going to a club with me. You're going to your boyfriend's party."

Green eyes widened, half in surprise, half in fear. "No way, Ino."

"Why not?"

"I told him I wouldn't! He's not expecting me! Besides, I need to talk to him first. He needs to know—"

"Needs to know what?" the blonde interrupted, raising a brow, challenging her to find an answer. "That you're finally going to take him up on an offer he's made you countless of times? It's not as if he's changed his mind overnight."

"Ino—"

"Stop making up excuses," she demanded. "You're going, and if I have to drive you there and drag you inside myself, then I will." After a moment of contemplation, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Heh, it might even prove fruitful. I make publicity for them, they make publicity for me." She shrugged. "I—"

Sakura laughed lightly, shaking her head. "That's nice, Ino. But I'm not the slightest bit prepared—and I'm not talking psychologically. I don't even have a dress. I—" She stopped upon noticing the flat expression on her best friend's face. She'd been told she was stupid just a moment before, but with the look she was currently on the receiving end of, it was only then that she actually felt it.

"A dress, Sakura?" she asked, dryly. "Really? Look around you, sweetie," she said, gesturing to the changing cabin and all the glittery, colourful drapes of chiffon still on display on the racks. "A dress is the least of your problems. You're in dress heaven."

* * *

Sasuke heaved an exasperated sigh as he pushed his way through the crowd gathered in his parents' ridiculously large living room, his objective finally, thankfully, in sight. Past colourful dresses and conservative suits, he could glimpse the large sliding doors that led to the garden, the open-plane room spilling outside onto a wooden porch and then branching out into a shaded garden, with cherry blossom trees marking their territory through a thick cover of pink petals, and an infinity pool that overlooked the largest natural lake in Konoha.

Outdoors, the population was sparse, even though the guests were, as usual, free to mingle. Sasuke supposed it was due to the unusually low temperatures of the season.

It was late in March. Konoha had a mild climate, with short winters and long, balmy summers, but spring was late in coming that year. The trees were in full bloom and the streets were covered in colourful petals; it was a beautiful sight, but one residents couldn't fully enjoy without a thick coat over their shoulders and a warm scarf around their necks.

As soon as he stepped outside, the sound of music, laughter, and discussions that were more political and business based than actually appropriate for a cocktail party, was blocked by the wind, and soon replaced by that of birds chirping, owls croaking, and the water lapping against the rocky shore miles in the distance.

Stopping for a moment, he breathed in the cool, crisp air of the late night, before burying his hands inside his pockets and walking across the porch, his footsteps echoing against the polished wood. He headed towards the pool, purposefully ignoring the protective cover of the fragrant trees; at that point, they reminded him too much of everything he could not have.

Thankfully, his destination of choice was slightly to the side, not quite in plain sight as one would look out from inside the house, and he was hoping no one would spot him and come over to attempt to engage him in pointless conversation. He'd had enough of that to last him a lifetime.

With another weary sigh, he took a seat on one of the light-coloured, suede lounges out on the wooden deck, with his back to the pool and his view set towards the steadily darkening view of the lake. Night had fallen a good couple of hours before, but the sky was clear and the moon was out, its monochromatic light reflecting upon the surface of the onyx water. He had no idea why his father had furniture outside or why the pool was even uncovered, in the first place, considering the amount of rain that had been falling lately, but he supposed Uchiha Fugaku would always be Uchiha Fugaku: forever caring more about appearances than any other issue in the whole wide world.

Though, Sasuke did hope, because he'd seen glimpses of it scattered over the duration of his life, that that in itself was an appearance—up to a point.

He ran a hand through his messy hair in distress.

He genuinely found it impossible to tell when the week had turned bad. Only in the beginning of it, he'd been celebrating her birthday. He'd taken her out of town that weekend, to a small village up in the mountains where it was still snowing heavily. He'd initially planned on wining and dining her at an intimate, yet expensive, restaurant he'd noticed before she quite enjoyed, but when his most important meeting was suddenly canceled, he decided to call the entire weekend off and do something that he knew she would appreciate more: a short getaway, just the two of them, to a place where no one knew them, where they didn't have to answer their phones, check their e-mails, or stop to greet people on the street.

That was one of the loveliest things about Sakura: that, even though he could place the world to her feet—and did exactly that, on a regular basis—she still fell in love only with the smallest gestures.

So, instead of having dinner at a fancy restaurant, they ate traditional food at the inn's traditional bar; instead of drinking expensive champagne, they drank hot chocolate and warm wine; and instead of gazing upon a magnificent view of the city skyline, they watched the snow fall outside. He'd given her a diamond necklace as a present, unable to completely help himself, and they'd spent most of their time indoors, tangled in the many blankets on the bed or in the many pillows in front of the fireplace.

"One day, when we have our own place," Sakura had said, drowsily, warmed by the heat of the fire and his body tightly pressed against hers, "I want to have a fireplace just like this one."

His heartbeat had quickened at her confession, thumping so loudly against his chest he was sure, for a moment, that she could hear it just as clearly as he could, pounding in his ears.

They had been together for three whole years, and yet, Sakura had always been careful not to mention a single word about their uncertain future. It may seem strange to the unknowing onlooking eye, considering she was the open one, while he was cold and majorly emotionless, but he had been the one to keep the idea of their endless possibilities alive throughout their entire relationship. A quiet word about how he'd love to wake up beside her every morning. A hint about how much he enjoyed her cooking. How good she was with children. How he couldn't wait to willingly yield half of his wardrobe to her flowery dresses and high-heels. How, instead of walking home alone at night, after a long shift at the hospital, he would rather have her drive a car and park it next to his own.

She'd always smiled and brushed him off, distracted him with a kiss or a proclamation of genuine love.

And, as he found out later in the week, her hint had only been a result of her exhaustion and the rare state of relaxation that had enveloped her body. Because, when Sakura was sleepy and relaxed, all of her walls were down.

And it made his heart clench painfully in his chest when he realized that she was hiding what she truly desired—from him; from them; because she thought her wishes would never come true, and saying them out loud would only result in more pain when they eventually shattered.

There were moments when he hated her cowardice. Because, despite the fact that he admitted they were not the average couple and openly acknowledged they would most likely encounter more problems than most, their situation was clearly not that drastic. It was quite simple, actually, defined in its most basic terms: he loved her and she loved him. Perhaps more importantly, he would give the world for her safety and happiness—and he was one-hundred-percent sure that she would do the same in a heartbeat.

But there were other times when he recognized her fear and saw the reasons lurking behind it. And, in those times, he also found that he couldn't quite blame her—not when he knew she did it all for him and with him in mind. The fact that none of her actions were what he wanted at all set aside, he couldn't and wouldn't disregard her efforts.

"Come," he'd encouraged her, tenderly stroking her silky hair as they laid in bed that night, aligning the locks over her shoulder, brushing her skin in the process.

She'd remained still, resting on her stomach beside him, his chest partially over her bare back while he whispered in her ear as to not break the tranquil silence of the night.

It had been sometime in the middle of the week. She'd spent the evening at his place, and he'd presented her with a proposal he'd already mentioned once before, on their weekend getaway.

"Come to my father's party. Come and be by my side. My parents will have to meet you someday."

She'd been silent for a long time. Beneath his palm, he had been able to feel her back heaving up and down with the rhythm of her slow, steady breaths, but he'd known she wasn't asleep. She'd heard him loud and clear, and her mind had processed his request at maximum capacity.

"I can't, Sasuke," she eventually told him, followed by a heavy sigh. "I love you… but I can't do that."

_'I can't walk in there and ruin us forever,'_ remained unsaid, but it rang so clearly in his mind that she might as well have said it out loud.

It wasn't the first time they'd had that conversation—and it killed him that it had then, for the first time, felt so different, so real, so definite. It had felt like a good-bye, strongly reinforced by the fact that they hadn't seen each other since; they'd talked on the phone, to say goodnight and good morning, and their usually colourful, explosive interaction ended there.

And, fuck him, he _missed_ her. He missed her so much. He missed hearing her exhausted voice on the phone as she tried so hard not to fall asleep because she wanted to tell him about a patient she'd healed or a discovery she'd made. He missed hearing her sleepy greetings in the morning. He missed being on the receiving end of her brilliant smile when he picked her up from the hospital. He missed tangling his hands in her hair when he kissed her. He missed kissing her, period. He missed feeling her soft, pliable body against his strong, broad one—such a startling contrast that somehow worked, and worked so well. He missed watching the way her cute nose wrinkled when she was concentrating, lost in that place inside her head filled with medical terms that eluded him. He missed the way her stubborn hair fell into her eyes whenever she cooked and the way she, demonstrating with her dirty hands, would ask him to pull it up in a bun for her. He missed her scent. He missed her touch. He missed her warmth at night. He missed everything about her—absolutely everything.

And he hated, he absolutely _loathed_ the fact that he would most likely end up losing her over this—if not this time, or the next, then eventually. He would lose the only woman he had ever loved and he was sure he would ever love over something that he could not change, could not control, could not throw to the wind just to have her by his side.

And Sasuke would. Sasuke would do anything and everything for Sakura.

At the same time, though, beside the horrible feeling that he couldn't identify and that was tearing him apart on the inside, beside missing her terribly, beside yearning for her presence, every second of every day, beside wishing that he never would have had to deal with the rupture between them that seemed to mirror the crack in his heart down to every last chink, Sasuke was angry.

She'd _known_ the party was in his honor. Sasuke had taken his family's company and turned it into an empire that not an entire generation of geniuses had been able to even dream about. He was young and successful and he deserved every bit of the praise he received. Sakura herself, with her adorable lack of knowledge about business, had confessed, more than once, that she was proud of him and the new heights she'd understood he'd reached. And yet, she could only prove that in private? She couldn't come forth, stand by his side, and show it to the entire world? Sasuke hated being selfish, especially since he could clearly see her reasons, but the frustration was there, and he could do little more to disperse it than he could do to send his heritage up in flames.

Sakura had to also know perfectly well how much pressure he was under from his parents. After all, he reminded her every time he had the chance, nagging her almost as much as they nagged him.

In all his twenty-five years of age, the young Uchiha hadn't brought home a single woman. His mother wanted grandchildren. His father wanted to meet _someone_. Sasuke imagined it was because, young as he was, Fugaku wanted to avoid hearing news about his son whoring around—and, besides, he had always been a firm believer in the idea that settling down was infinitely better than jumping from one woman to the next. Sasuke agreed wholeheartedly—but he also thought the woman had to be the _right_ one. His father, on the other hand, as much as he loved his mother, didn't quite seem to have grasped that concept.

And, judging by the amount of women present at the party, women that fought to grab his attention—in most of the cases, by wearing the most ridiculous dresses, one more revealing than the next—the current event was in equal parts thrown to celebrate his success, as well as a poor attempt at matchmaking.

Unsurprisingly, Sasuke wanted neither. He didn't want to shake hands and discuss business, and he definitely didn't want to chat and flirt with random women. He wanted one of two things: to go home and sleep, or to see Sakura. Even from afar. Even without her acknowledgement. Even if she had an annoying tendency of making him feel frustrated and upset and in love all at once. He simply wanted to _see_ her. He wanted to see her face. He wanted to see her eyes. He wanted to see her smile, maybe. Most importantly, perhaps, he wanted to check that she was alright. He wasn't, that was for sure. But if _he_ felt uncomfortable, if _he_ had realized what this rupture could mean for them, then Sakura, a person whose emotions ran high at all times, a person who wore her heart on her sleeve and whose mind was constantly working itself into overdrive, overthinking everything there was to overthink, then there was a high chance that _she_—she was shattered.

"…Sasuke-kun," a soft, familiar voice rang from behind him, a mere whisper carried by the wind that resounded clearly through the peaceful silence of the nature and the roaring inside his head—the roaring that was reduced to mere nothingness the moment it registered in his mind that he _knew_ that voice. He could _recognize_ it. It was the voice that he'd missed. The voice that sounded different on the phone. The voice he wanted to hear for the rest of his life, on repeat, in all of its forms. A voice whose soothing effects no one would ever be able to replicate or replace.

He hesitated in turning around. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He hadn't had much to drink; he couldn't possibly be hallucinating.

Another sound. A slow footstep. Shoes on the wooden porch. Heels—the type of heels she wore when she wasn't on duty; the type of heels she loved, despite their impracticability.

This wasn't his imagination playing tricks on him, he realized then, and finally turned around.

She was _there_. Looking awkward and hesitant, tired, apprehensive, and even a bit scared. Her green eyes were stormy, watching him with an expression that was difficult for him to decipher. Her hands were twisted together in front of her stomach, her fingers popping one by one, a sign of her nervousness. Her lips were parted, her throat flexing as she swallowed.

It was clear as day that she wasn't in her element.

But he also had the impression, right then and there, even though he was aware he had it nearly all the time, that she'd never looked more beautiful.

She was wearing a long dress that matched the forest green colour of her eyes. Millions of precious stones were embedded on the front, dotting down the sides to merge with the soft material that flowed all the way down to the ground, drifting towards a longer length in the back to trail behind as she walked. Her long pink hair was pinned up in a sophisticated manner with what he imagined to be dozens of different hairpins, with curls falling into her face and down her neck, gently brushing against her delicate skin, contrasting with the colour of the dress in an exotic manner he'd unconsciously been associating with her from the moment she came into his life. Her make-up was as flawless as the rest of her appearance, darkening her eyes, enhancing her natural beauty, making her look so much more gorgeous even when Sasuke swore, every morning he woke up by her side, that it was impossible.

He stood.

Sakura swallowed again. There were no more knuckles to pop, so her hands wrung together in an odd dance and clear display of discomfort.

"Sakura," he greeted.

She licked her lips.

He cleared his throat. Part of him told him to run, take her in his arms, and suffocate her with all his emotions so that she could feel them, too—feel his frustration and his happiness and his elation and his confusion, all over the fact that she was there when she said she wouldn't be, that she'd come, that she hadn't disappointed him, after all. That, just when he was thinking she was lying in bed, turning her pillow wet with salty tears, she turned up and managed to surprise him, managed to flip the image he'd built by one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. That was Sakura. Completely unpredictable and so easy to love.

He stood rooted to the spot instead. He needed to figure out what she had in mind first, before he allowed his hopes to shoot for the sky, before he allowed the thought that perhaps she had finally changed her mind about them resurface from where he'd buried it the last time they'd been in a similar situation.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and then almost cringed. He hadn't meant to sound so cold.

The pinkette took a step forward—then, seeming to reconsider her decision, took another back.

"I… was at Ino's fashion show," she started, her voice small and low and still so hesitant. Her hands continued their nervous jitter. "She let me borrow a dress."

Sasuke said nothing.

"…You invited me," she continued after a moment. "My name was on the guest list."

"It was," he confirmed, not even trying to deny the fact that, all along, he'd been hoping she would show up. He hadn't expected it. But he'd hoped with every fiber of his being.

There had been plenty of situations in the past where Sakura could have met his parents. A Christmas meal, a business dinner, a casual day spent in the family—even the occasional glamorous event. She'd always turned the invitation down, and he'd always made sure that her name remained on the guest list, regardless of that. She'd never turned up, and they'd continued on with their relationship.

But, somehow, he'd known from the beginning that this occasion was different. He'd known from the beginning that, had she not been standing in front of him now, everything would have changed between them. Perhaps it was the frequency of these happenings. Perhaps it was the way he was growing tired—and she, as well. Perhaps it was the importance of the party and its subtle significance—different for him, different for his parents, and especially for his father.

If Sakura hadn't made an appearance, if she had left him to his own devices and, most importantly, to his father's matchmaking skills, Sasuke would have received a message, loudly and clearly. A message whose existence he would have loathed to acknowledge. A message that, he hoped, he could now throw into the lake and forget all about, forever.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know you're aware of my reasons. I know you're aware of how much I love you. But, I also realize… I haven't been fair to you. All this time…" She swallowed. "I haven't been fair. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sasuke."

"Why?" he asked, finally taking a step forward—and another, and another, until he was standing right in front of her.

Sakura gazed up into his eyes.

He could measure the exact height of her heels by the way the top of her head reached his chin. Normally, it would rest comfortably on his chest.

"I love you," she whispered, her green eyes glassy behind the dark make-up. They were painfully beautiful.

But he refused to be distracted by them. "Why?" he demanded again, more forcefully.

_'Don't avoid the question,'_ his tone warned. _'You know what I'm talking about. Face it, say it—do it.'_

Sakura closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her brows were furrowed, as if in pain. She looked down.

"Why?" he prompted again after a moment of silence.

Another second passed. "I feel so goddamn inferior to you sometimes, Sasuke," she finally complained in a painful whine.

"Why _would_ you?" he demanded, grasping her arms, forcing her to look at him. _This_ was their real problem. This had been their problem from the very start, and they were only now, after five years of relationship, addressing it. "I don't understand, Sakura. I've never treated you as anything less than my equal."

"I know!" she said. "That's the issue! It's obvious that I'm not and you're not seeing it! When you take me out to one of your fancy, favorite restaurants and I don't even know what to order, much less how to eat it! When you show up in your _Maserati_ so that I don't have to _walk_ home. When you give me a diamond necklace and expect me to wear it—as if I'd have _where_! When you do all these things that are lovely and amazing and only make me adore you more, but that would be completely out of my league if it weren't for you! And even if I got my brain to shut up, you think people won't notice all that? You think they won't talk? How many will judge me? How many will doubt my true feelings for you? Too many, Sasuke. _Too_ many. And you don't deserve that. _We_ don't deserve that."

"So, what?" he shot back. "What do you want me to do? You're upset because I have money? Because I was born into this family? I can't do anything about that, Sakura! I can't change it! Are you going to end us because of that? Or do you want us to hide inside an apartment for the rest of our lives? What do you _want_, Sakura?"

"I just want you, Sasuke!"

"I want you, too! Why can't you see that?"

"I _do_ see that!" she complained, shrugging herself free from his grasp. "But one of us has to think about the world around us, too, Sasuke! And that responsibility seems to fall on _my_ shoulders, because out of the two of us, I'm the one with her feet on the ground the most!"

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but Sasuke paid no mind to them.

"Maybe I care about you more than I care about the world around us."

There was a long moment of silence.

"I know," she whispered, defeated. "I'm here now, am I not?"

Sasuke could no longer resist the temptation—he closed the distance between them and tugged her in a warm embrace. She felt thin, delicate, and as fragile as always as he wrapped one arm around her small waist and another one over her bare back. In return, she clung to his shoulders, her small hands fisting the collar of his suit at the nape of his neck.

He heard the shuddering breath that left her lips, and there was no need for him to imagine the way her eyes sparkled even more when they filled with tears—he'd seen the same image enough times to last him a lifetime.

"I love you," she whispered brokenly. "I _love_ you, Sasuke. I love you so much." Her embrace tightened, and he responded in the same fashion, burying his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her delicate perfume as her small frame shuddered in his arms. "I don't want you to hate me. I don't want you to ever hate me. You love me and I can see that and you'd give up everything for me—and I don't want you to resent me for that someday."

"Sakura," he murmured, loosening his hold, pulling back only slightly, wanting to see her face.

She, on the other hand, didn't budge, continuing to hold onto him tightly, almost desperately. Shifting her head, she buried it into his neck. He was able to feel the wetness of her tears against his skin.

"Sakura," he insisted, more gently this time, placing his hands over her arms and coaxing them to unwrap from around him. Once she consented, he cupped her face within his palms, gently brushing her tears away. "Look at me."

She sniffled. Her nose was red, her eyelashes wet, and her eyes much too glassy for his preference—so glassy that he could almost see the stars reflecting in them when she finally looked up—but her make-up was intact.

For a long moment, they were both silent, their gazes tightly locked. Sasuke hoped she would find everything that she was searching for in his. He hoped that she could see how much he adored her and how utterly impossible everything that she was saying was, so that she would understand, once and forever, that all of her fears were unfounded.

"I…" she croaked, avoided his gaze again, and he knew the battle was lost—and he hadn't won.

"Sakura," he barked.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his again.

If she refused to see what was so plainly in sight, then that was perfectly fine with him. The time when he was afraid to swallow his pride in her presence had long since passed. Now, the only thing that Sasuke was afraid of when it came to Sakura was losing her. Nothing else mattered.

"I love you. I could _never_ hate you. I want everything with you—_everything_. Do you hear me? I don't care about anything or anyone else. Do you understand that?"

It was the closest he had ever come to a direct confession. It was, actually, the most direct form of confession in existence, he realized as he continued to hold eye-contact. He'd said the famous three words before—in a whisper across her skin, in a breath against her lips. He'd proved their meaning through a million of small and large actions. He'd tried to convey them each and every time they were together, through every mean he had at his disposal. Words weren't his area of expertise. He simply didn't feel secure in them. They were too ambiguous; it was too easy to interpret them wrongly. Actions, on the other hand, made him feel powerful and confident in the fact that he had sent exactly the message he had been meaning to send. Heartfelt words, words that were not concrete or practical, made him feel vulnerable.

He'd never told her he loved her whilst looking at her in the eye. That didn't mean his feelings were any less real or intense, but it was easy to notice, as she closed her eyes and released a shuddering breath, how the confession rocked her to the very core, sinking to the bottom of her heart and tattooing itself there for a lifetime.

He heaved a sigh and wiped the rest of her tears away.

"Stop crying," he huffed. "You have absolutely no reason to cry."

She swallowed and wetted her dry lips. "I…"

"Sasuke-kun?" a new voice interrupted them, causing Sasuke to look up and Sakura to partially turn around in his arms.

The young Uchiha sucked in a breath as he realized who was standing across from them, only a couple of feet away, dressed in what had to be an outrageously expensive outfit: a long, navy gown with a fitted bodice encrusted with shiny, precious stones. Perfect make-up, perfect aristocratic features, perfect long, dark hair twisted up in a perfect hairstyle. Thin figure and a face that seemed ageless. A posture that screamed elegance, a dress that yelled glamour, and an expression that all but spelled out confusion.

And, judging by the way Sakura tensed in his arms, Sasuke was certain she'd noticed all of that, as well.

It was, after all, what anybody would notice at first sight.

Uchiha Mikoto was stunning. She was elegant. And she came from old money—and that could be seen. Easily.

But that was hardly all there was to see and know about her. She was an amazing woman, a doting, loving mother, a person that certainly cared more about the people and the world around her than she did about money and appearances. She'd been there throughout Sasuke's entire life, and although memory failed him in places, he was sure she'd never left him more than a couple of hours in the care of another person, regardless of how busy she was or how fashionable that was in her social circles. She held down a job, even though she did have her own business, and she went to work every day as any other normal person did. She cared about her employees and was on a first name basis with most of them. She cooked and did laundry by herself, and she read more than any other person he'd met.

But those were things that Sakura, unfortunately, couldn't tell at a single glance.

"Mother," he greeted, soothing a hand over the pinkette's skin, before stopping and resting it on the small of her back—a small sign of reassurance that everything was and would be alright.

This was it. The beginning of what he'd been waiting for and anticipating from the moment he realized there was no one other he would rather spend the rest of his life with. He would stay by her side regardless of the outcome.

Mikoto's expression of surprise quickly melted away. She took a couple of steps forward before stopping in a relaxed pose, yet one that was still filled with elegance, closer to them.

"So, this is the lady that you've been hiding from us," she stated, surprising both of them.

Sakura stiffened even further in his arms, peering up at him in surprise, and Sasuke himself had to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth from dropping open.

His throat felt dry when he tried to speak, and he had to swallow. "How?" he asked in a raspy voice. He'd been extremely careful not to mention the presence of a woman in his life to his parents, keeping his relationship to Sakura as much of a secret as she'd wanted it to be.

Mikoto smiled, a mixture of condescension, exasperation, and in equal parts, amusement. "Sasuke, honey. You don't bring home stray kittens and constantly take pictures of them, as if you've come to visit them more than you've actually come to visit me. I've known there must be someone special in your life."

Feeling Sakura's eyes on him with the statement, Sasuke looked down, their gazes connecting in an instant, as if pulled by a magnet. She seemed torn between smiling and crying, but her expression displayed all the love in the world—all the love that he knew she had for him.

He reached out to brush a lock of pink hair away from her face.

From over her shoulder, he noticed his mother's smile widen, before she took a step back and turned to face the house.

"Come inside when you're finally ready to give us proper introductions," she stated right before she walked away, leaving the words hanging in the chilly night air.

A moment passed before either of them initiated a single action. Eventually, it was Sakura who rested her head on his shoulder and slid her arms around his middle, under his suit jacket. He felt goose bumps on the skin of her shoulders as he ran his hand over them.

It was cold outside, much too cold for her revealing outfit.

Returning her embrace, he pressed his lips to her temple.

He gave her one more moment of silence, after which he whispered encouragingly, "Let's go inside. Let's do this once and forever, Sakura."

She exhaled, the puff of warm air brushing against his neck. A second passed, and then another. Then, finally, a whisper reached his ears: "I'm scared, Sasuke."

"I'm not," he retaliated firmly. "This is what I want." He knew she needed the reassurance.

Silence enveloped them once more while she fought to gather her composure. She breathed in, breathed out, and then finally straightened her spine, pulled back in his embrace and looked at him in the eye. "Alright," she said. "Then it's what I want, too."

Sasuke pressed a kiss to her forehead, before wrapping an arm around her waist and beginning to lead her away from the pool, in the direction in which his mother had disappeared. With each step they took, the noise from the inside, a mixture of music and voices, could be heard louder and louder, and the reality of what was about to happen became larger and much more obvious, until it was sitting in their path and staring at them right in the face.

"Don't worry," Sasuke decided to say, squeezing her hip possessively.

Sakura gazed up at him with wide green eyes, and he returned the look steadily, honestly, lovingly.

"You may not be the richest woman in there… but you're the most beautiful and you're the smartest. And, aside from my mother, I swear… you're the only one I care about."

* * *

**A/N: I actually have a canon ****counterpart (-ish) to this in mind that I hope to write and post soon! It will involve more Uchihas (including big brother Itachi), so keep an eye out for it!**

**I hope you've enjoyed this one-shot, and if that was the case, please review and tell me what you thought! :)**

**P.S. You can find pretty dresses on Flickr, as usual.**

**P.P.S. Also, please point out any mistakes which I might have overlooked so I can correct them. Thank you! **


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